by Tess Oliver
FREEFALL
Tess Oliver
FREEFALL
Copyright© 2013 by Tess Oliver
Cover Design and Book Layout by: Nikki Hensley (www.hensleygraphics.com)
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All Rights are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Table of Contents
Cover
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Other books by Tess Oliver
Author Contact
Strangely Normal Teaser
CHAPTER 1
Nix
The throbbing in my head was compounded by the thwack my skull received as I hit it against the legs of my dresser. I groaned as I turned onto my side and came face to face with the side of my mattress. Either I’d been too drunk to find my bed before passing out or I’d started my tequila induced coma on the bed and at some point I’d fallen onto the floor. The morning tide rolled beneath the houseboat. Normally I wouldn’t have noticed the motion, but this morning it felt like a tsunami.
Pressing my fingers against my temples did nothing to ease the pain. With some effort, I hoisted myself up to sit on the bed and dropped my lead-filled head into my hands. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted into the room, and I took a deep breath. Remarkably, it seemed to revive me. The clanging noise of dishes being washed sounded like an explosion, but I had to hand it to Dray, he’d obviously recuperated much faster than me. The fact that he’d not only started the coffee but had decided to wash the dishes too was completely out of his character, but I wasn’t going to complain. I pulled on my jeans and headed to the galley for coffee. Hopefully it was black as tar this morning.
The second I stepped into the coffin-sized living room of the houseboat I knew something was off. It was clean. The couch and floor were actually visible. Apparently, a night of partying had given my roommate super powers. Either that or he didn’t have his portion of the rent. I was leaning toward the latter.
“Holy shit, Dray—” I stepped into the galley, and Cassie looked up from her newspaper. She pushed her black rimmed glasses up higher on her tiny nose and blinked up at me through the thick lenses. Her small, cute face hidden by giant glasses always reminded me of a Dr Seuss character. Only this Susie Who was a character I couldn’t live without. My tattoo parlor, Freefall, could not run without her.
Cassie returned her attention to her newspaper and held up a cup of coffee as if she’d read my thoughts, which she often did. “I’ve already put the sugar in. And it’s strong. I figured you’d need it.”
I took the hot cup in my hands. “You’re like an angel sent from heaven.”
She continued reading the paper. “Damn right I am.” Then she peered up at me through a curtain of long black bangs. “You two boys would never have made it home last night. It’s a good thing you called me.”
The night was coming back to me in a series of crappy events. Dray had talked me into going to a party, and somehow, we’d ended up in a drinking tournament. Then the night had gone black, which was probably a good thing. “Thanks for coming to get us, Cassie. I hope we didn’t ruin any plans you had.”
She lifted a brow, and her diamond stud twinkled back at me. “Well, I was deep in conversation with my cat when you called, but I’m sure he’ll get over it.” A moan of pain rolled through the houseboat. “He’s much worse off than you. At some point during the night, he must have gotten into a fight because he had swollen knuckles and a black eye.”
Thinking back to the evening made my head hurt more so I stopped. “Nothing new. For Dray, it’s not a successful evening unless he’s plowed his fist into someone’s face.”
Cassie took a sip of coffee. “He’s such an ass.” It was something she said often, and it was true. But I was the only person who knew how she truly felt about Dray.
Dray stumbled from his room and crashed into the bathroom with all the grace of a blind bull. A series of moans echoed through the boat.
Cassie stared toward the bathroom door. “Jerk. Deserves every minute of agony this morning.”
The boat lifted and sank, and a wave of nausea rolled through me. “This is why I hate drinking. Not worth the torment. Especially if you live on a boat.” I glanced into the front room. “Thanks for cleaning up in there.”
“You guys live like swine. Besides, it was too late to drive home, and I couldn’t find the damn couch.” She stood and put her cup in the sink. “Do you want me to make you some eggs before I leave?”
I put up my hand. “Please don’t mention—” I couldn’t even bring myself to say the word without wanting to puke. “Don’t mention those little white things.”
The bathroom door opened and Dray’s feet pounded the floor as he lumbered into the galley. He was shirtless, and he’d not even taken the time to button up the fly on his jeans.
I shook my head. “Shit, Dray, shut that before stuff falls out of there. We’ve got a visitor.”
“Where?” he looked around. One side of his face was puffy and bruised.
“Asshole.” Cassie walked over to the small refrigerator and grabbed out the bag of frozen peas. She tossed it around on her palm. “You need a new ice pack. This one’s ripped.” She handed it to Dray, but he waved it away.
“Too late for that. You should’ve put it on my face last night.”
Her lips twisted into a knot. “Oh, I’m sorry, but I didn’t have time to administer first aid because I was busy trying to keep you from falling off the dock and then there was the matter of getting you to your bed.” She looked at both of us. “Which, by the way, neither of you made it to.”
“Ahh, that explains why I woke up staring at the side of my bed,” Dray said with no attempt at a thank you or apology. He sidled past her and reached into the fridge. He pulled out yesterday’s leftover burrito. Then he grabbed up the bottle of hot sauce from the counter. Cassie and I watched in awe as he pulled back the greasy wrapper, shoved the burrito into his face, and then followed it with a hot sauce chaser.
I put my hand in front of my face. “I can’t watch this.”
“Why not?” Dray said over a mouthful of food. “I need energy for work.”
“Are you still on that construction site in Lakewood?” I asked.
“Yeah, but it’s coming to an end, and they don’t have much lined up.” He dropped the last half of the burrito into the trash. “But to hell with it. I’ve got some good fights lined up.” Dray worked construction during the day, but his real money came from the amateur fight scene. He was small, tough, and fearless. He was good enough to go pro but his lack of self-discipline made him too much of a risk for sponsors. Sometimes it seemed like Dray couldn’t feel pain like a real huma
n, the result, no doubt, of a shitty upbringing. His dad was a monster, and his mom only worried about her own ass.
Dray grabbed a can of cola from the fridge and sucked it down. He scratched his stomach, burped loudly and winked at Cassie. “I’m out of here. Hey, Nix, don’t forget that Clutch is expecting us to go to that car show tonight. He’s finally unveiling that Pontiac.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Dray, Jimmy, or Clutch as we called him, and I had been best friends since high school. Dray had left without his diploma, but Clutch and I had somehow managed to snag ours. With the crazy shit we’d pulled in those days, it amazed me that we’d all survived our teens. Our high school had a tradition of creating a fake year book that was a spoof of the real thing. It was far more prophetic than the real thing too. Dray had been voted most likely to have a police record. Clutch had been voted most likely to scam his way to a million bucks, and I’d earned the distinction of most likely to leave behind a string of broken hearts. Dray and Clutch had made good on their titles soon after we left high school. It only took Dray a few months to get arrested for assault, and while Clutch hadn’t earned seven figures yet, he was close. But he really hadn’t scammed his way toward big bucks as much as he’d managed to invest in the right places. He’d always had an infatuation with cars, and his talent for fixing them had earned him a lot of money. I, on the other hand, might have left a few tears behind, but I had definitely not lived up to my title.
Cassie leaned back against the kitchen counter and watched as Dray disappeared into his room. Her dark eyes sparkled with longing. I walked over and kissed her cheek. “You’re way too good for him, Cass.”
“Yeah, I keep telling myself that, but it just never takes hold.”
“I’ve got to go by and check on my grandmother,” I said. “I’ll be at the shop in an hour.”
“Don’t be too late. Kristy the Crier is coming in for a dragonfly on her shoulder.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why the hell does she put herself through all the torture? And why does she torture me by coming in for tattoos that she hates getting?”
Cassie looked wistfully toward Dray’s door. “Some girls are just glutton for punishment, Nix. I’ll see you in an hour.”
***
I knocked twice but there was no answer. The flowers Nana had had me plant two weeks ago were already dead from lack of water. Like so many other things, she’d forgotten them already. I quickly fished the key from my pocket and unlocked the door. “Nana!” I called urgently.
“Here, Alex, in the kitchen.”
My shoulders relaxed at the sound of her voice.
A cup of tea was nestled between her thin, white hands as she stared dreamily out the window. She turned to face me. Her memory was leaving her, but the lines around her eyes still showed the incredible mind that had once been there. My grandmother had been an English professor at a private university, and my grandfather had been a dentist. They’d raised my sister and me since our early teens. Not an easy task. Nana had been in her late thirties when she’d had my dad and both she and my grandfather were nearly seventy when Dad died. They took us in without a thought.
Dad’s death was a day that was stuck in my head like a photograph, a picture that never faded and only seemed to get more vivid with time.
Nana turned her attention to the yard again. “You know, Alex, I was thinking maybe you could plant some flowers for me.” The lines along her cheeks deepened as she smiled up at me. “Some petunias might be nice.”
I nodded. Bringing up the fact that I’d just planted flowers for her would have been useless. “Nana, I won’t be over for dinner tonight.”
The phone rang. It was an old-fashioned phone with a long cord. Nana had fallen over it twice, once breaking her wrist, and so I’d tied the length of it up with baggie ties. I leaned down awkwardly so I wouldn’t drag the phone off the table. “Hello.”
“Alex, oh good, you’re there. Tell Nana that I’ll be a little late. I have to take Jamie to the dentist this morning.” I could hear my nephew screaming ‘no dentist’ in the background. “Then you should brush your teeth more,” Diana yelled to him without covering the receiver. “You don’t have time to take her to the store, do you?”
“I’ve got a client coming in, Di. I’ll tell her you’re coming late, but it won’t matter. She won’t remember two seconds after I’ve told her.”
There was a pause, and I knew exactly what was coming next. “We really need to look into a home for her,” Diana spoke quietly as if Nana could hear her.
“Soon, but not yet.” Every time the topic came up, it made me want to slam my fist through a wall. Life carried far too much shit with it. “I’ll tell her you’ll be late.” I hung up.
Nana had walked out to her living room. Like she often did, she’d walked over to the line of pictures on the mantle. It was a part of her morning ritual, a lesson of sorts. She would walk along the line of photos and recite the names of the people. Sometimes she’d even force herself to repeat the occasion of the picture. It was as hard for me to watch as it was for her to remember. For now, the faces there were still familiar, but it wouldn’t be long before they became strangers.
Her shaky fingers took hold of a picture with a shiny silver frame. It was the photo she picked up every time. “Your father looked so gallant in his racing suit.” She stared down at the picture and ran her forefinger over it. “He was such a good boy.” And then as always her face smoothed with sadness.
I walked over and put an arm around her shoulder. She seemed to be shrinking with each passing day. My dad’s face smiled up at me from the picture. He was leaning against his race car, the car that he’d died in just a year after the picture was taken. My sister and I had been watching the monitor inside the racing trailer when it happened. I was sipping a wild cherry slush not really paying attention to the race. Mom was sitting on the little leather couch where Dad and his crew always played poker during down time. She couldn’t have been bothered with watching the race. She was busy on the phone making plane reservations for her next trip to France. At that time, I was too young and self-absorbed to know that Mom had been seeing someone else. Diana gasped and I pulled my attention away from my drink and looked up at the monitor. It was a minor crash, just a little twisted front end as the car hit the divider. Not like his previous wrecks where the car had broken up apart or burst into flames. And after those crashes, Dad had always emerged with a wave and a smile. Diana and I watched as his pit crew meandered out to the car with smiles, seemingly joking about the silly crash. But halfway across the field, their faces changed and they started to run. A horrified hush fell over the crowd. Diana grabbed my arm, and my drink fell to the floor splattering my shoes with red ice. Dad never stepped out of the car.
The doctors had concluded that a weak blood vessel in Dad’s head had burst. He was dead before his pit crew got to him. Mom left three weeks after the funeral and stayed in France. Nana and Grandpa took us in. My dad’s death had nearly killed my grandmother, and I was certain the shock of it had brought on the dementia. My grandfather died three years after burying his son. He’d left me a nice chunk of change and the Zany Lucy, the boat he’d named after my grandmother, and the boat I called home. I had been blowing through the cash like a snowplow in powder when Clutch persuaded me to invest in the one true skill I’d had in high school, other than getting suspended— my art. My life had been in a freefall until I opened the doors of my tattoo shop. It was easy to name the place.
Nana placed the picture back on the mantle and stared at it a few moments longer. Then she smiled up at me. “Will you be coming for dinner tonight?”
I shook my head. “Not tonight, Nana. Diana is coming over later to take you shopping.”
“That’s nice,” she said. There was a time when the woman could recite every line of an Emily Dickinson poem, and now she had to write down the word ‘milk’ on paper so she wouldn’t forget to buy it.
I kissed her forehead. “I’ll stop by
tomorrow.”
“Will you be coming for dinner tonight?”
“No, Nana,” I said quietly, “not tonight.” I walked into the kitchen to make sure the stove was off. A small note with Nana’s wavering handwriting was taped to the hood. It read, ‘turn off stove’. Nana’s grocery list was on the table. I wrote a note telling her I wouldn’t be coming tonight and that Diana would be late. But I could still expect at least three phone calls during the day asking if I’d be coming for dinner. I didn’t mind the calls though. Hearing her voice let me know that she was all right.
CHAPTER 2
Scotlyn
Lincoln threw back the drapes, and I placed a hand over my eyes to block out the harsh daylight. “Are you going to sleep all day?” he asked as he answered his cell phone. He walked into the sitting room adjacent to the master suite and shut the door behind him. I had no interest in listening in on his calls just as I had no interest in anything he did.
I sat up and glanced down at the clock. It was noon. I’d actually only slept for a few hours. I’d spent most of the night sitting in the chair on the balcony overlooking the pool. I preferred empty darkness to the visions that haunted my sleep.
I picked up the picture I kept on the nightstand and stared down at my family. We’d been on a trip to Jamaica that summer. I remember not wanting the trip to end. I held the picture closer. My mom’s fingers were wrapped around my sun-browned shoulder. I was skinny and gawky with that awkward physique only a girl of thirteen could pull off well. Mom’s fingernails were painted with her favorite color, Hot Pink Lemonade. It was the color that came back to me when my mind drifted back to the awful day, back to the last true day of my life, back to when everything went cold. My mom’s pink fingernails were the last flicker of movement I’d seen in the twisted metal and glass of what was left of our car after we’d gone over the side of a mountain.
Lincoln opened the sitting room door ushering in the icy sterile air that seemed to follow him wherever he went in his sprawling house of sparkling glass and polished steel. “There are a few people coming over later for a small get-together by the pool. You should wear that new bikini I bought you.” He smoothed down his moustache, a useless habit considering the man never had a hair out of place. Lincoln wouldn’t allow it. Everything, even his hair had to be completely under his control. He leaned over and kissed the top of my head. I’d trained myself to hold my breath and avoid the stench of his hundred dollar aftershave, an expensive fragrance I’d come to loathe along with his touch.