“Clive?” I called out from the doorway.
When he didn’t respond, my lungs ached with the sudden stop of my breath.
“Clive!” I called out louder.
I moved into the room, my feet feeling like twenty-pound weights, and moved above him. His eyes were closed, his mouth opened just a bit, and I squeezed my eyes shut and silently prayed that he was just sound asleep.
“Clive,” I whispered desperately, hoping his eyes would pop open and he would bitch about me waking him.
He didn’t move.
I bent over and shook him, and when he didn’t move, I just knew.
Pressing my fingers against his neck where his pulse would be, I was met with no movement.
Clive was dead.
My father was dead.
The only family I had ever had in my entire life was dead.
Everything inside me shut down. Everything Clive had restored in my soul over the past few years collapsed, and my impenetrable walls fell back into place with a loud slam.
If I couldn’t feel anything, then it wouldn’t hurt.
If I couldn’t feel anything, then I wouldn’t die inside knowing the only person who gave two shits about me was no longer a part of our world.
I moved away from his cold body and walked in a zombie-like state into the living room to call 911. As soon as I hung up the phone, I left the apartment. Being there knowing he was lying lifeless just a few walls away from me was too much.
Fifteen minutes later, the paramedics found me downstairs at the bar. I remained on my barstool as I pointed at the stairs without a word. Another paramedic began questioning me, but I was only capable of single words.
No full sentences.
No emotional pleas.
Just a word for every question.
“What time did you find him?”
“Seven,” I mumbled, not even sure that my answer was correct.
I just knew the sun was coming up, and it usually did that around seven.
I kept my head down, focusing on my fingernail as I picked at it.
“And he was already deceased when you found him?”
I nodded, my head feeling heavy and weak.
“Yes.”
Before the paramedic could ask me another question, the sound of more voices brought my attention to the stairs where they were wheeling Clive’s body out of the apartment.
Our home.
My family’s home.
The only true home I had ever known.
“I just have one more question,” he said.
I nodded, my eyes stuck on the sheet covered body of the man I called my father.
“What is your relationship to Mr. Brown?”
It was strange hearing him call Clive, Mr. Brown. I had always known that was his name, but it was rare that I heard it.
They wheeled Clive outside and lifted him into the back of the coroner’s van. I turned away to look back at the paramedic, and one of my walls slipped out of place, allowing a single tear to roll down the side of my cheek.
“I’m his son.”
And no matter what, he would always be my father.
As soon as they pulled away with his body, I locked the bar and left. I couldn’t be there without him. It wasn’t right.
I stayed out all day and throughout the night. The thought of returning to an empty place was sickening. Instead, I froze on the streets as if I didn’t have a warm place to stay. I figured I might as well get used to it again.
Word of Clive’s death filled the streets, and anyone who didn’t already know found out when they tried to go to the bar only to find it closed.
By the time I got up the nerve to return, it was already morning again. When I opened the door to the bar, the rising sun filled the dead space with a dusty morning glow.
I slammed the door behind me and locked it before I moved straight to the bar and pulled out two bottles of Jack. I unscrewed the first bottle and brought it to my lips to swallow down a mouthful. The liquid splashed over the top when I slammed the bottle down on the bar top.
Gripping the edge of the bar, I breathed hard. All I could see was everyone who ever existed in my world and exited.
Deloris.
Jane.
Vick.
And finally Clive.
Whether it was me running from them or them dying on me, everyone was gone, and there was only me.
Nothing.
No one’s son.
No one’s anything.
Squeezing my eyes closed, all I could see was Clive’s lifeless body. My nostrils flared as I pulled oxygen in, but it seemed to get stuck somewhere on the way to my lungs.
I didn’t want to see Clive anymore. It was enough that I had nightmares about the people I murdered, but to see the body of the man I cared for—my father—was the last thread holding the seams of me together.
I dug my fists into my eyes, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t erase the image. So until I could, I would drink.
I’d drink every ounce of alcohol in Clive’s bar if it meant it would all just go away. I would drink until I couldn’t remember anything.
Not Clive.
Not the murders.
Not Vick.
Not Jane.
And not Deloris.
I wanted to forget it all.
Drink until the entire world around me went numb.
By the time I finished the first bottle, the world around me was fuzzy. And halfway through the second, I went numb. I couldn’t feel a damn thing, and a sad sense of relief came with that numbness. Once I was no longer able to feel my arms and legs, I climbed on top of the bar and laid back.
I took short, shallow breaths as I stared up at the ceiling and let my mind drift away. It wasn’t long until the liquor lulled me to sleep, and I welcomed the unconsciousness with open arms.
A loud pounding on the door of the bar woke me. I wasn’t sure how long I had slept, but when I moved to sit up, pain shot down my stiff spine. My headache roared, pounding through my brain with each obnoxious knock.
“Go away!” I yelled out.
Magically, the knocking stopped, but the pounding in my brain remained.
Bringing my legs over the bar top, I slid off the bar and fell on weak knees. My fingers twisted in my dark hair as I latched on to my head and prayed for the pounding to stop. Running my palms over my face, I felt wetness on my cheeks.
I frowned as I looked at the ceiling, thinking maybe there was a leak somewhere. But then I remembered, and the pain came back hard and fierce.
I looked at myself in the large mirror behind the bar. My eyes were red and puffy, my tears making a sloppy trail down the side of my face. A broken sob ripped from my lips when I closed my eyes and saw Clive lying lifeless on his floor once again.
It would never go away.
The nightmares would haunt me for the rest of my life.
My buzz was long gone, replaced by a rage that seemed to fill out the blackness within me. There were so many emotions; no matter how hard I tried to shut them off, the only one I felt comfortable settling on was the anger I felt at knowing I would never see Clive again.
It was as if a part of me had died with every person who exited my life, and Clive had taken the last piece. I felt so fucking dead inside.
There really was no point in trying anymore. Giving up was the only thing I knew how to do. After years of surviving and losing, I was done.
No more.
I no longer wanted to exist.
My eyes landed on the bar top, and a box of matches with the bar name printed on the top caught my attention. Without a second thought, I lifted the bottle I had been drinking from earlier and tilted it, letting the brown liquid splatter onto the floor around my feet.
Once the bottle was empty, I dropped it, the bottle shattering into hundreds of pieces all around my shoes. Grabbing the box of matches, I pushed it open and pulled out a single match. I struck on the side of the box and watched as the flam
e danced on the tip, mocking me with the bleak future I always knew I would have until finally, I snapped.
I dropped the match, and the flames grew all around me.
I was done.
I was already in hell.
Might as well burn.
TWENTY-NINE
I SHIFTED ON THE COT IN MY JAIL CELL for the millionth time, but no matter what position I was in, I still felt fucking lousy. I’d been sitting in the jail for the past five days, and I hadn’t even seen a judge yet.
They arrested me and threw me behind bars. The only other person I saw was the guard who brought me three meals a day.
No one came.
And I knew no one would.
I had nobody to call, and even if there was, I wouldn’t have called them anyway.
The jail wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be the past few nights, but oddly, I felt comforted by the bars surrounding me. I was still so angry about losing Clive, and I knew I couldn’t be trusted on the streets alone.
Not only had I almost drunk myself into a coma, but I had also lit the only real home I had ever known on fire and then passed out. I still didn’t know if the building survived, but suddenly, it mattered so much that it was still there—that all of Clive’s life was still in our apartment. I needed something to hold. I wanted something from him even if I lost the only home I had ever known to someone else.
The way I saw it, jail was the best place for me until I figured things out and got myself under control. I only wished I knew when I would be getting out and exactly how much damage I did to Mike’s and the apartment above it.
Keys jingled in the distance, and I tilted my head to see the guard coming my way. He wasn’t holding his usual tray, and considering it was lunchtime, I was curious as to why.
Sitting up, I threw my legs over the side of the cot and ran my fingers through the knots in my hair.
“Good news, Stephens,” he said, making me cringe at the last name I no longer used. “Looks like you’re finally getting out of here.”
I stood and walked over to the bars.
“Not possible,” I muttered.
I had been sitting in jail for five days twiddling my thumbs without so much as a peep from anyone. That was because there was no one.
“Hey, all I know is your paperwork is being drawn up, and your release is scheduled for noon.”
He didn’t say anything else as he walked back to his post, and forty-five minutes later, he was back to release me. I stepped out of the cell and in front of him, and he followed me.
“Someone’s here for you,” he said, his deep voice echoing against the cinderblock walls.
I frowned. “Who?”
“He said his name is David Spencer.”
“What does he want?”
Curiosity was getting the best of me. Where I came from when someone wanted to talk to you or see you it was for a bad reason.
“I don’t screen people, kid. It’s not in my job description.”
“Don’t call me kid,” I snapped, snatching the plastic bag with my belongings as we reached the front.
I had never met David Spencer in my life, but it wasn’t hard to figure out who he was. When I walked into the lobby area, he was the first person to smile at me. As I walked toward him, he set his briefcase down and held his hand out for me to shake. I shook it, eyeing him as he smiled at me apologetically.
“Mr. Stephens,” he said, shaking my hand.
I hated that fucking name.
“Sebastian,” I muttered, hoping he would never call me Mr. Stephens again.
“Sorry. Sebastian,” he corrected himself. “I’m David Spencer. I was very good friends with Clive, as well as his lawyer. Do you have a minute to speak with me?”
I nodded.
It wasn’t like I had any other place to be, and rushing back to the bar wasn’t something I was looking forward to.
“Why don’t we sit over here?” he said, leading me to a bench next to the entrance of the police station.
“First, I want to say how terribly sorry I was to hear of Clive’s passing. I imagine it’s been very hard for you. Losing a father is a very hard blow.”
I nodded again. I didn’t really know how to respond to that. Obviously, he was the lawyer who dealt with our adoption. Otherwise, he would have never called Clive my father. Not to mention, I could feel the raw emotion climbing its way up my throat and begging me to release a painful sob.
“Yes. So let’s get to business, shall we?” Reaching over, he grabbed his briefcase and popped it open. “A couple of months ago, Clive came to see me and asked me to draw up a new will to include you.”
I frowned.
“I don’t understand. Clive never mentioned you or said anything about a will.”
“I’m not surprised. That sounds like him. He asked that I draw up a new will to state that when he passed, everything went to you.”
Shock shook me, making me feel as though the world took a big spin.
“What?”
He chuckled. “I know it’s a lot to take in right now, but Clive left everything he owned to you, Sebastian.”
Where did the air go?
Suddenly, there didn’t seem to be enough air to fill my lungs.
I bent over, sucking in as much oxygen as I could as once again the world spun on its axis a little too fast for my tastes.
“The bar, the money, and the building he owns in the city… it’s all yours now.”
A crushed feeling filled my chest. I should have been happy to hear that I had so much handed down to me, but nothing, not even money and the bar, could take away the ache of missing Clive.
“Why didn’t he tell me any of this?” I asked, knowing David Spencer probably wouldn’t have the answer to that question either.
“Maybe he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. You know Clive. He didn’t like making a fuss over things.”
A grin tugged at the side of my mouth even though the pain of his loss was still so fresh.
David was right.
Clive hated making a fuss over things.
“But it is a big deal,” I blurted, anger moving back in. “It’s a big fucking deal. How could he leave everything he owned to me? How could he leave …” I couldn’t finish my sentence.
The words choked me as the real reason for my anger threatened to suffocate me once more.
I missed Clive.
“I’m really sorry, Sebastian. I know this is hard on you.”
“What if I don’t want it? What if I don’t want any of it?”
I expected him to look surprised, but he didn’t. Instead, he just smiled.
“Clive suspected you might respond that way. So he told me to give you this. He also had some very colorful responses to that question, but I’ll refrain from repeating those.”
As he spoke, he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a white envelope. On the front was my name, and I recognized Clive’s twisted handwriting. I took the envelope from him, my fingers feeling numb.
“Why don’t you read that and then stop by my office later this afternoon.”
He handed me his business card and then took a deep breath as he stood.
Before he got very far, I called him back.
“Why was I released? What happened to the charges?”
He shook his head, a blazing white smile on his face.
“They were dropped.”
“Dropped?” I could hardly believe my ears. “But why?”
He shrugged.
“The bar’s in your name now. Technically, there can’t be any charges against you.”
I didn’t respond.
I didn’t have a response.
“I’ll see you this afternoon, Sebastian. Take it all in.”
And as I left the police station with my belongings and an envelope from Clive, I planned to do just that.
FOUR HOURS LATER, I found myself outside the office of Spencer, Walters, and Associates. I stood outside the build
ing, staring up at the massive construction. I hadn’t been to this particular part of the city in a long time.
Inside, I let the guy at the front desk know who I was there to see, and he sent me up to the tenth floor. The elevator doors opened to a snazzy reception space with a smiling redhead behind the front desk.
After telling her who I was there to see, I sat in the waiting area until David came out.
“Sebastian,” he said as he made his way into the waiting area. “I’m glad you came. I had my doubts that you would show, but Clive assured me you would.”
I snorted. “Clive thought he knew everything.”
David laughed. “That he did. Follow me.”
I followed him to his office, which was larger than the reception space I had waited in and took a seat in one of the two chairs across from his desk.
He plucked a folder from his desk and began pulling out papers. Spreading them out, he lay them down in front of me.
“I just need to get your signature on these, and everything will be finalized.”
I took the pen when he handed it to me then paused above the paperwork, not even sure of what I was reading.
“Can you walk me through everything?” I asked.
“Of course.” He leaned forward until he could see the documents in front of me.
He pushed one set toward me. “This first set of documents is your taking ownership of the bar. Take your time and read through it. Then I’ll just need you to initial and sign the last two pages.”
I nodded and leaned over the document in front of me. My eyes scanned the words, but I didn’t actually read them. I probably wouldn’t have understood them anyway.
All I needed to know was that Clive trusted the guy, and if Clive did, then so did I.
Flipping to the last few pages, I initialed and signed where he had indicated. I hated signing the name Stephens on the line, but I knew it was something I had to do since legally Sebastian Stephens was my name.
When I was done, I pushed the document back to him and waited for him to go over the others.
“These last three are all stock and bonds, bank accounts, and the building in the city. It’s a nice place but a little run down. Could use some love, if you asked me.”
I scanned the pages, barely listening to what he was saying.
Little Black Box Set (The Black Trilogy) Page 63