Downfall

by Terri Blackstock

  “You took it to Walgreens! You had them fill it.”

  “But I didn’t pick it up!”

  “You haven’t had time!” Barbara shouted.

  “Mom, I messed up! I took the prescription to the drugstore, and I shouldn’t have. I let myself get weak. But I pulled back. I didn’t go through with it. Go inside and ask them. I talked to a girl. I don’t know her name, but it was just a few minutes ago.”

  Barbara hung up without saying good-bye and snatched up the bag. Wiping her tears, she went into the drugstore and stormed to the side window that said Drop Off.

  A female pharmacist stood beside the window, typing on a computer. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  Barbara leaned over the counter. “Yes. My daughter is Emily Covington. She just spoke to a woman here.”

  “Yeah, I talked to her,” the pharmacist said. “She said to cancel her order, but after I hung up I realized it had already been picked up.”

  Barbara closed her eyes, wanting to collapse in relief. So Emily was telling the truth. She had almost fallen, but she had caught herself. God had caught her. Wasn’t that what mattered?

  She told herself it was, but part of her still harbored resentment that Emily would even consider using. As powerful as that pull was, Emily knew how much was on the line. With one decision, their entire world would collapse again.

  Barbara went into the store’s bathroom and flushed the pills. Then she forced herself to go back to work and get through the rest of the day, though her mind was far away. Anger and relief collided in her head, making it ache. And fatigue over the last few days — and the last few years — were wearing her down.

  So much damage. So much fallout. Crazy things happening.

  She didn’t know how much more she could take.

  Chapter 39

  Barbara was distant when she got back to Kent’s after work, so Emily decided to make herself scarce. She had betrayed her mother. She had betrayed herself. The fact that she’d canceled the prescription didn’t erase the temporary weakness she’d shown.

  She turned to a blank page in her spiral notebook and started journaling.

  I’m the black sheep of the family, the problem child, the one everyone dreads and avoids. I’m the one whose future is questionable, the one more likely to wind up in prison than living the good life.

  My punishment for my damaged neurons is not over. Broken bones, stalkers, and prison are still on my To-Do list. So much to look forward to. And here I thought my history test was my most pressing issue.

  My mother will never trust me as long as she lives. And I guess it’s my own fault.

  As she hunkered in Kent’s small guest room, her school books spread out on the bed, she had to admit that it wasn’t just the pain of a broken foot that had weakened her. It was the stress of being falsely accused and the strain of two days in jail. The fear of what might happen next.

  So what do I do about this, other than wallowing in self-hatred while I wait for the other shoe to drop?

  Her mother had no idea what she was going through. No one did. But that couldn’t matter. She had to have integrity regardless of what people thought of her. God was the only one who could help her. Self-pity surely couldn’t. She had to figure out how to press on with her goals, and chief among them was to live a righteous life no matter her circumstances.

  Abandoning her journal, she opened her Bible, starving for sustenance. She flipped around to the book of Numbers, and turned to the passage where Moses sent twelve spies into the land of Canaan, to bring back a report of the land God had promised. The men came back with a bad report. Ten of them said that the land was flowing with milk and honey, as God had said, but that the people were too big and strong and the cities too well fortified to conquer. “We became like grasshoppers in our own sight, and so we were in their sight.”

  She could relate. Against her own invisible foe, she was like a grasshopper. One or more killers were jerking her around, manipulating her like a puppeteer, calling the shots on her life. She was as helpless as a grasshopper.

  But the negativity of those ten spies in the face of God’s promises changed the path of their future. Only Caleb and Joshua trusted God. Despite the practicalities, the fears of the ten other spies, the dangers in taking the land, Caleb and Joshua believed that God would do what he said he would do.

  She paused and re-read Numbers 14:9, where the two of them tried to stop the fear and discouragement spreading like cancer through the people. Aloud, she read, “Only do not rebel against the Lord. And do not be afraid of the people of the land, because we will swallow them up. Their protection is gone, but the Lord is with us. Do not be afraid of them.”

  Maybe that was the word God wanted Emily to hear today. That she need not fear the men who schemed against her. That she was not a grasshopper. That she had the King of the Universe fighting on her side. Her enemies would be swallowed up. Their protection would be gone. She had nothing to fear.

  She prayed that passage of Scripture would apply to her life. The Israelites had rejected God’s message and wound up wandering the desert for forty years. She was tired of desert life. She wanted to be like Joshua and Caleb. She wanted to trust God.

  Her foot ached, reminding her why she should doubt. She thought of the message the killer had written on the wall of her violated home — Criss-Cross. It was just the kind of thing to send her over the edge, and it almost had. Was that what Bo and Carter wanted? To make her a junkie again?

  She heard a knock on the door. “Who is it?”

  “Me,” Lance said. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.”

  The door opened. Lance looked tired. He must not be sleeping well on the couch. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  “But . . . why are you and Mom not talking?”

  She looked away. “I just needed to be by myself. I’m studying.”

  Lance looked down at the Bible in front of her. “Studying what?”

  “People with integrity.” With the word, she burst into tears.

  Lance stood there quietly. Finally, he came in and sat on her bed. “Why does that make you cry?”

  She shook her head and wiped her face. “Because I want integrity. But it’s like I have my old self still strapped to my back, and I just can’t shake her off.”

  “What happened? What did you do?”

  She sighed and told him the story. His face fell when she got to the part about taking the prescription to the pharmacy. “Oh, no. Emily.”

  “I didn’t go through with it. I changed my mind before I picked it up, and I canceled it. But Mom found out, and she’s pretty upset.”

  “No wonder.”

  “Right. No wonder.” She wiped her eyes, drew in a deep, cleansing breath. “I’m working on being the kind of person that God can bless. But it’s hard because of the choices I made back then. I let myself get caught in this. I put myself there.”

  “You had a lot of problems, with Dad dying and all.”

  “So did you. But you made better choices.” She locked her gaze into her brother’s, wanting him to understand. “I liked the way the drugs made me feel. And I made decisions . . . one after another . . . decisions that made me lose control. It didn’t happen to me. I chose it, and then one day I couldn’t choose anymore.”

  “But you did choose. You quit. And even though you almost lost it today, you didn’t.”

  “The thing is, that guy who’s been smoking dope in front of you . . . he’ll pressure you. You make one decision to use any kind of drug, and the next thing you know, your choices are gone. You think you’re immune, that you won’t do anything harder. But when you’re high, you don’t have strong values. You don’t have hard rules. You just have your appetite, and you fall for any seduction that comes along.”

  “Tyson doesn’t influence me.”

  “Not now. But you keep going places with him and he will.”

  “So now you’re lecturing me?
I didn’t do anything.”

  “I know. Just be careful.” She knew that jumping on him wasn’t necessary. He had his head on straighter than she did.

  Suddenly she was tired. So tired. The weight of the last few days was dragging her down. “I didn’t kill those women, you know.”

  He met her eyes. “I never for one second thought you did.”

  “Anybody knowing my history would question it.”

  “You’re not who you were. End of story.” He got up. “I’m hungry. Wonder if there’s anything to eat.”

  Grateful for the period at the end of his sentence, Emily watched him leave, then pressed her face into her hands. No matter what, she had to trust God. She went back to her Bible, searching for the strength and the courage to get through another hour.

  Chapter 40

  Lance couldn’t fight his melancholy at school the next day, and when Tyson approached him in the hallway at lunchtime, he had little patience.

  “My friend, Lance,” Tyson said, thrusting out his fist to bump with Lance. But Lance kept his hand in his pocket. “If I didn’t know better, dude, I’d think you don’t like me.” Humor rippled in his tone.

  Lance just kept walking.

  Tyson was full of energy, trotting in front of Lance, turning and walking backward. But he looked like death warmed over. His eyes were sunken, like a junkie on a dayslong high, but Lance resisted the urge to push him out of his way.

  “What do you want?” Lance asked.

  “Just to be friends, man,” Tyson said, hitting his own chest and throwing his hands out. “I like you, man. I don’t care what the jocks say about you.”

  “I don’t care what they say about me either.”

  “I looked you up on the Internet. Saw the articles about your shooting. I know it’s all true, man.”

  Lance’s steps slowed. It wasn’t as if he’d spent a lot of time trying to convince people about what had happened to him back in Jeff City. But when someone acknowledged that it was true, it did him good.

  “I’ve been telling everybody, dude,” Tyson said. “You’re a cool guy.”

  Lance stopped walking and stared at him.

  “What do I have to do to be your friend?” Tyson asked him.

  Lance didn’t know what the guy was up to, but he didn’t trust him. “Leave April alone.”

  “Hey, I’m just her friend. You overreacted last night, man. It’s not like you caught her shooting crack.”

  “If you care about her, back off, okay?”

  “Hey, you’ve got problems. If you loosened up, people would like you better. I can hook you up. A little stress reliever to help you forget your sister killed somebody.”

  Lance’s muscles went rigid. “She did not kill anybody, so shut your stinkin’ mouth.”

  Again, Tyson’s hands came up. “Sorry, man. I didn’t say that right. I’m sure she’s cool.”

  “Get out of my way,” Lance bit out.

  Lance pushed past him. He thought of calling Kent and telling him that a slimy drug dealer was slithering down the halls of the high school. But Tyson was too smart to be caught that way. He wouldn’t have more than one hit on him — just enough for a small misdemeanor charge, and he’d be free again within hours. Lance knew how guys like him operated. They kept their stash nearby, in a place that was easy to reach, but never on them. His dopers had to come to a second meeting at a more discreet location to buy from him. He’d never have enough on him to be busted for long.

  Brooding, Lance went into the cafeteria. The smell of beef stew assaulted him, making him feel sick. He headed for the salads and found April there.

  Her smile almost made him feel better. “Hey, Lance. You okay?”

  He shrugged. “Fine.”

  “So . . . you want to go to Aaron Gray’s party tonight?”

  He shrugged. Aaron Gray was a basketball player whose parents were millionaires. Lance didn’t have a clue why the guy went to public school. The party was for the whole junior class, but Lance hardly knew him. “Not really.”

  “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

  “I have a lot going on.”

  He took his tray and headed to an empty table. April followed. “How’s Emily?”

  “Okay. She broke her foot. Like she needed more bad luck.”

  “She must be really depressed.”

  “Yeah. I hope she doesn’t have to repeat the semester. But I guess that’s the least of her worries.”

  “Have they caught the killer yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then she might really have to go back to jail?” she whispered.

  Lance just stared at his food. “Can we change the subject?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” April took a bite, her soft eyes on him. “Come on and go to the party with me tonight. I don’t want to go by myself. It’ll get your mind off things.”

  “Tyson hasn’t offered you a ride?” he said sarcastically.

  She took the blow. “I don’t want to go with him.”

  “Good.” There was hope. He should wash his hands of her for smoking dope with Tyson. But she was weak and down, and Tyson clearly had taken advantage. Maybe Lance shouldn’t be so hard on her.

  He drew in a long breath. “Maybe I could get my mom’s car.”

  April’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

  He grinned. “I’ll text her and see.”

  The Grays’ house reflected their wealth. Aaron had bragged often about the ten-thousand-square-foot mansion with countless rooms. The party spilled onto the back lawn and around the pool, though it was too cold to swim.

  As he and April walked up the drive from where valets had parked his car, Lance’s anxiety kicked into hyperdrive. April, who’d grown up here, found friends just inside the house and dashed toward them. Lance stood alone for a moment, then forced himself to head toward the kitchen.

  The counters were filled with bottles of everything from Corona beer to Jim Beam. Clearly, the host’s parents weren’t around . . . or else they had no problem with teenagers getting drunk in their home. Lance found the sodas and poured himself a Coke.

  He stepped out of the kitchen and tried to find a place to get out of the way. He missed his friends in Jeff City.

  Sitting alone, watching his classmates drink and dance, he decided that he shouldn’t have come. Why had he been so flattered when April asked him? It wasn’t like a date. She wasn’t paying any attention to him. Maybe she just considered him a project, someone who needed a friend, so she’d made the sacrifice.

  He saw a table of food on the back patio and ambled toward it. A couple of people he knew from class stood in front of the chips and salsa. They looked sober and sane, so he went toward them. But as he approached, they walked away. He wasn’t sure if they’d seen him and were avoiding him or if they just hadn’t noticed. He set his drink down and filled a plate with some chips and dip, then headed for a free chair in a corner of the patio.

  As he sat down, he saw Tyson coming in, newly arrived and wild-eyed. He looked worse than he had earlier. Several of Lance’s classmates greeted the doper like they’d been waiting for him. He was sure to score big tonight.

  Lance sat alone for a while, scanning the crowd for April, but after a while, he realized he’d completely lost track of her — and Tyson had disappeared, too. He should just leave, but first he had to make sure she had a ride home. Irritated, he went looking for her. He found one of her friends in the kitchen, mixing rum and Sprite. “Scarlet, do you know where April is?”

  “I think they’re in the study,” she said.

  They? Who was they?

  He crossed the crowded living room toward the foyer, looking for something that looked like a study. A door just off a massive hallway was closed. Maybe that was it.

  He opened the door, looked inside at the cluster of people there. A joint was being passed around the circle, its smoke clouding the room.

  Lance stepped back, and April shot up. “Lance?”

  Lance looke
d from her to Tyson, who was grinning as he lit another joint and passed it down.

  “’Sup, Lance?” he asked. “Come in and have a toke.” His laughter cracked through the room.

  Lance ignored him and closed the door. He was outa here. He headed for the front door, but behind him, the study door flew open and April dashed out. “Lance! Don’t go.”

  Lance didn’t turn back as he trotted down the steps to the drive.

  “Lance! Please wait. I just took one hit.”

  “I’m going home,” he said over his shoulder. He found the car and pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Find a ride.”

  “No, I’ll come with you,” she said.

  He unlocked the door and April jumped into the passenger seat. “I braced myself for alcohol being here,” Lance said, “but I didn’t expect dope. I thought you told me it was just a mistake when you did it before, that you weren’t gonna do it anymore.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  He drove in silence for a moment, unable to look at her. “My sister started with things like this, you know. And then one day at a party just like that one, somebody handed her a pill and said, ‘Take it. It’ll make you feel better.’ So she took it and it calmed her, and she thought that was her answer. She could be a big party girl, do whatever she wanted, have so much fun, if she would just get high before she went. But you know what happened? Before she knew it, she wasn’t taking it because it made her feel good. She was taking it because if she didn’t she would puke her guts out. And she spent every minute of the day trying to figure out where she was gonna get her next hit. And then the pills stopped being enough. So she started using heroin and cocaine and anything else she could get her hands on. She threw my mom and me under the bus and lost all her friends.”

  April stared at him in the darkness.

  “My mother raised her with perfect teeth, and now she has fourteen fillings in her mouth. She’d hang out in rat holes of apartments and dope houses, shooting poison into her veins. It all started as no big deal. Just one hit. One joint. One pill.”

  April set her elbow on the window and let out a long breath. “I know you’ve seen some bad stuff. But I’ve been really depressed about my parents, and I just wanted to feel better.”