by Harloe Rae
The landlord won’t hear me bitch about the thin layer of carpet slapped down to cover what needs fixing. I’m doing the same damn thing in a pair of faded jeans and plain button-down. Try as I might to create a mask, the pungent stench of prison still lingers in my pores. But each step forward brings me farther away from that shithole.
With a sigh draining my lungs, I drop onto the sofa and kick my feet up. An empty evening lounges ahead of me. Taking a moment to appreciate unrestricted spaces is a new habit I’m enforcing. The open style of this studio loft was a selling point for me. A quick glance around provides a tour of each corner. This is no penthouse in the big city, but I don’t require more than a place to call home. A single room with an accessible exit is plenty for a man like me.
I’m more fortunate than most ex-cons freshly released to the streets. There’s plenty of money in the bank, thanks to years of honest work as a program developer. I’m capable of doing just about anything if a computer is involved. People were impressed with my level of skill, which filled me with a sense of worth. Offering a decent amount of muscle into the mix only increased my value. How fucking naive I’d been. All that brain and brawn certainly put a target on my back, the wrong type of people having the swiftest aim. Everything went to shit shortly thereafter.
My ribs complain after I take a long inhale. Though the paint is fresh, the air still has a tinge of musty odor. This rental sat vacant for several months before I swooped in. Demand for real estate in these parts is fairly low. I haven’t seen a ton of people nearby in general. The closest gas station is two towns over, and it’s a twenty-minute drive to get groceries. But I can’t afford to be picky about location, with the sizable rap sheet stapled to my forehead. The fact they willingly handed over a lease agreement still baffles me, though offering to double the deposit probably didn’t hurt.
Knoxview is an hour south of the prison, nestled in central Minnesota. I’m allowed to travel within a seventy-mile perimeter. My parole regulations are strict, which suits me fine. I have nowhere to be and no one to do it with. All I care about is having a fair amount of distance from Chicago. There’s a lot of intel I need to collect before getting anywhere close. The men I’m up against will no doubt be waiting for me.
A loud buzz shatters the erratic whirlwind of my thoughts. I shove off the couch while muttering about inconvenient disruptions. The intercom crackles when I press the button. “Yeah?”
“Is that how you greet me after the drive I’ve had?”
Several beats pass while I stare at the speaker. My rusty cogs try to make sense of what I’m hearing. “Holy shit. Beckett?”
His dry chuckle is muffled by the shitty connection. “Yeah, brother. Gonna let me in or what?”
I wouldn’t have guessed that security was worth a damn at this place. If I’m going to be proved wrong, this is the way to go about it. With another jab of my finger, a low hum pulses down the line. The knock comes a moment later. I swing open the door with what feels like a crazy-ass grin splitting my face.
My brother whoops and leaps at me. “It’s so damn good to see you.”
I clap him on the back, returning his hug. “Likewise, man. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Figured a surprise would be more fun.” He breaks apart from our loose embrace while clutching my shoulder.
“Well, damn.” I motion him forward. “Come on in. The space isn’t much, but it’s clean and cheap.”
Beckett steps toward what qualifies as my dining area. He juts his chin at the station of monitors and electronics taking up the majority of an entire wall. “Back at it already?”
“Gotta pay the bills, right?” Finding legit jobs has never been a chore for me. Anything related to technology comes as second nature. I can pick up any device and make it run more efficiently within moments. Crunching numbers, analyzing data, creating new software, eliminating breach threats. There are plenty of folks who need the kind of services I can provide. The best part? They don’t make me fill out a form to see if I’ve been convicted of a felony.
“Sure didn’t take long to rebuild.” He’s still staring at the mess of screens, hard drives, and wires.
“Figured I might as well start a new collection. Besides, technology changes fast.” All of my previous equipment was seized after I’d been arrested. They had to collect evidence to prove my involvement, of course. I’m sure Stefano greased some deep pockets to make all of my encrypted files disappear.
His gaze studies mine, attempting to gain more than I’m giving. “Are you being careful, Halder?”
The question alone has my temperature rising. I can’t stop a sneer from curling my upper lip. “What the hell do you think? I’ve never been one to look for trouble.”
He holds up a placating palm. “Not at all, brother. I’m well aware of that. But you got roped into some really bad shit, regardless.”
A low growl rumbles in my chest. There’s no point in trying to argue with the obvious. I yank at a fistful of hair and collapse on the sofa. “Yeah. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Beckett takes a seat beside me. “But I do. Shit, how can I not?”
“I’ll take care of myself. Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson.”
His exhale is drawn out. “Have you talked to Mom and Dad?”
The mention of our parents stings worse than pouring salt in an already festering wound. I recline against the leather cushions, ignoring the increasing pressure in my gut. “Uh, yeah. I called them after getting released.”
“And?” His eyebrows lift with additional prodding.
“They were glad to hear from me, I guess.” My mom and dad live a quiet and simple life. Their roots have been settled deep in western South Dakota for decades. They’re the stereotypical small town happily-ever-after couple. Met in kindergarten. Started dating in high school. Got married after graduation. Bought a house with a white picket fence. Popped out a couple of kids. Decades from now, they’ll ride off into the sunset holding hands.
My parents aren’t bad people. Quite the opposite, really. Maybe that’s why their disappointment stings so bad. I’m not allowed to make the drive to visit them, and hell would become an ice rink before they considered crossing borders to see me. We’re stuck at a crossroads for the foreseeable future.
His nod is full of understanding. “Just give them a bit to come around. It was a huge shock when you were found guilty or caught or whatever.”
A muscle pops in my jaw at his choice of words. I know he means well, but damn if that doesn’t twist the knife. Before I can form the words to correct him, a car backfires in the distance, and I jolt upright. My chest is rising and falling too rapidly from such a harmless sound. Pressure builds and flexes under my skin, fueling me with a sense of urgency. I’m a brick of lit explosives that’s seconds from detonation. My brother notices, of course.
“You good, Halder?”
How many times have I heard that question over the last week? Enough to lose count. I’ll never be good again, but that’s not his problem. “Yeah, just fine.”
Based on his challenging stare, he doesn’t appear to be convinced. “Do you, uh, have anyone to talk with? You know, like professionally?”
I almost laugh at the idea. That’s fucking rich. There’s a whole slew of people foaming at the mouth to get at me. The last thing I need is for my little brother to suggest adding a shrink to the mix. Christ, there’s probably already two on payroll. “I’m covered, Beck.”
His head bobs, slow and steady. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re taken care of.”
“So, what brings you to the area?” I scrub at the beads of sweat dotting my forehead.
Beckett focuses on me, his green eyes the same shade as mine. “Other than seeing my big brother after his stint in the slammer?”
A scoff barrels out of me. I’m under no illusion that he came all this way to visit me. “Thanks for that.”
He smiles and nudges my side. “Just messing with you. I’m meeting som
e buddies at a bar not far from here. Ended up giving me a damn convenient excuse to swing by to visit your new digs. Wanna join us?”
Being surrounded by drunk strangers doesn’t hold the slightest appeal. A lot has changed in the time I’ve been gone. Five years were stolen from me, and I have zero intentions of adding onto that number. Adjusting to life after lockup has been unpredictable, and that’s being generous. There’s an entire crew of professionals set up to assist with this process. Relying on their support makes me feel weak and incompetent, but I don’t have much of a choice. Having a certain brunette beauty check in on me wouldn’t be all bad, though—not that I was given any say in the members of my team.
I rub the back of my neck, gripping the tension building there. “Nah, I better not. There’s too much temptation.”
He rocks back against the armrest. “Ah, shit. I didn’t even consider that. Sorry, brother.”
“Don’t worry about it. Things will get back to normal. Eventually.” I look away, needing something else to focus on. “Want something to drink? I don’t have any booze, but there’s plenty of soda and water.”
He stands and brushes away my offering. “I should probably get going. They’re waiting on me. Do you mind if I crash here for the night? I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”
“Yeah, no problem. This bad boy opens up as a sleeper.” I pat the spot he just vacated.
He stalks to the foyer, no doubt more than ready to end this awkward exchange. I don’t blame him for a second. “Until later, then. It was really good to see you, Halder.”
I give him a wave before he disappears into the hall. “Thanks for dropping by. Have fun.”
Not even a minute after Beckett is out of sight, there’s a knock on the door. I push myself off the sofa once again, heading that way with a slow gait. An easy smirk notches the corners of my mouth as I turn the knob. “Forget something?”
The words are still rolling off my tongue as I’m shoved backward. A blur of movement fills my vision, but I can’t make sense of who’s in front of me. The intruder is a man, for all the good that clue gives me. My awareness doesn’t make a sliver of difference in this situation. The sting of a needle bites into my neck, and whatever is in that syringe is fast acting. The floor tilts and warps as my knees buckle. Before I can calculate the consequences of my stupidity, darkness pulls me under with nothing but silence.
Survival tip #5: Precaution is best served in moderation.
Streaks of morning sunlight spear through the blanket of clouds, chasing the chill from my limbs. I rub at my arms as the fringes of warmth soak in. That small boost puts an extra bounce in my step.
The light flashes to green, accompanied by a boom of honking horns from congestion while approaching the intersection. A burst of sweet pollen tickles my nostrils as I cross the street. Those late bloomers are survivors. Most of our fair-weather plants and flowers have already dried up with the change in season.
Temperatures are steadily dropping in typical fall fashion. Leaves are changing color. Chunky sweaters and scarves are replacing dresses and flip-flops. The threat of flurries swirl in the air. October has been pleasant so far, but that can change overnight.
People cram the sidewalk from all directions. I can empathize with that level of haste. A quick glance at my watch shows my window of opportunity is getting more narrow. Our mandatory staff meeting begins in less than an hour. Starting my day in the office makes it easier to plan my schedule. I have a full agenda that’s already stealing all my focus. But coffee is number one on the list.
A vibration from my back pocket momentarily distracts me from my hunt for caffeine. The incoming call flashes a name that always manages to wrangle a smile from me, even on her most difficult days. I pop in an ear bud and swipe the screen. “Hi, Mom.”
Her exhale whooshes down the line. “Hey, sweetie. I’m so glad you answered.”
“Why? Is something wrong?” The pinch in my chest is a reflex I’ve come to recognize.
“Well, no. I just miss you.”
I press at the ache in my sternum. “I miss you, too. Are you having a good week?”
“Yes, I suppose. Barb and Bonnie came over yesterday to play Rummy. They want us to see a musical performance on Friday.” Translation: an oldies cover band taking over the stage at some dive bar.
“That sounds like fun. You should go.”
“Oh, I don’t know. There will be so many people. All the noise and germs. I don’t want to deal with any of that. It’s too dangerous.” The strain in her voice makes me frown.
This is a common excuse I’ve heard from her over the years. Since my father passed away, my mother has become somewhat of a hermit. Her paranoia has gotten increasingly worse, to the point she rarely leaves the house. The fear she carries threatens to break my heart.
I clear my throat, being sure to keep my tone level. “Where is the concert, mom?”
“Over at Buckie’s.” Her loud sigh fizzles in my ear. “You know how I feel about that place.”
The exact same way as everywhere else that’s beyond her doorstep. “There’s nothing to worry about, mom. Your friends will be with you the entire time. Get out and enjoy yourself.”
“Not this time, dear. I’m sure there will be another show soon.”
“But you could do both.” Fingers crossed that my suggestion doesn’t sound too pushy.
Her scoff says plenty. End of discussion. “Are you coming home soon?”
She means to the house I grew up in, which hasn’t been my residence since high school graduation. I don’t bother correcting her. “Maybe? It’s been really busy at work lately. I could probably stop by after my next trip to Streebston.”
“The penitentiary? That was only meant to be temporary, Blakely. Why are you still meeting with those criminals? You need to quit. They’re constantly putting you in harm’s way. Can’t you see that? Living in the big city is a bad influence. I honestly wish you’d reconsider moving home.”
Glossing over specific details of my position are strictly for her benefit. Imagining her constant fretting over my wellbeing made the decision easy. Could I have been more forthcoming? Perhaps. But getting smothered as an adult by protective motherly instincts is rather exhausting.
I suck in a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of my pulse. Defending myself is beginning to feel like a chore. “Mom, I love my job. And I love my apartment, which is centrally located to anything I need. Wrylea can hardly be considered a big city. An expanding suburb is more appropriate, not that it matters. This is my life, remember? I get to make the choices.”
She sniffs, and I brace for further argument. “But you’re not making them correctly. Listen to your mother, sweetie. I know what I’m talking about.”
This woman is the reason my compassion is too generous. An abundance of forgiveness and patience is a requirement, bless her beautiful soul. I inhale until the pressure behind my eyelids recedes. “Okay, mom.”
“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
Because it’s not meant to be, not that she will listen either way. I tip my face toward the sun to indulge in a hit of natural bliss. My mother continues prattling on about her extensive amount of worry in regard to my occupation. Letting her talk is the best solution for both of us. She’ll eventually reach a level of saturation and taper off.
The bistro entrance is a very welcome sight. I pull open the door with newfound zest tingling my fingertips. An unfiltered dose of rich coffee teases me as I cross the threshold. The small space is brimming with static energy while everyone eagerly waits for their orders. I’m jonesing right along with them.
“What are you doing, Blakely? There’s a lot of noise in the background.” My mom’s voice interrupts the perusal of freshly baked pastries I’m currently indulging in.
“I’m ordering an extra-large latte with heaps of whipped cream and caramel. A chocolate croissant, too.”
“You’re at a cafe? Why is it so loud?”
&
nbsp; “It’s a busy place, mom.”
“And you’re alone? Walking around while talking on the phone? You’re just asking to get mugged.”
I smile at the cashier as if my stomach isn’t in knots. She gives me a grin in return while inserting my card into the chip reader. I step away from the register to wait for my breakfast. An impatient tsk reminds me that I’m still on the phone. “Sorry about that, mom. But this town is very safe. There are plenty of single women out and about on a constant basis.”
“Please don’t be a statistic, dear.”
The urge to wrap her in a tight hug rushes through me. “I won’t. Please don’t worry so much. But I need to go, okay? I’ll come by this weekend.”
“Promise?” Her resigned tone sends a stab of shame into my stomach.
“Yes, of course. I love you, Mom.”
“Love you, sweetie. Take care of yourself.”
“I will. Talk to you soon.” I end our call, removing my ear bud with a weighted exhale. If only she could find a slice of peace that didn’t involve me moving in with her. My only saving grace is that I have two sisters living very similar lives as me. Sharing the spotlight of her stress keeps the guilt from being all consuming.
I’m contemplating a quick trip to the bathroom when my name is announced. After gathering all the goods, I stride outside to get my day rolling. Between the rising sun and several gulps of coffee, an abundance of heat is rushing beneath my skin. And I still have twenty minutes before my meeting starts.
While passing the next block, black spots begin dancing in my vision. I blink and shake my head in an attempt to clear the speckles. More darkness swoops in, and I nearly stumble. What the heck? I pause at the nearest building, using the brick wall as support.
My eyelids are suddenly made of cement. The rapid beat of my heart is forceful enough to crack a rib. A wave of drowsiness attempts to pull me under. My bones are replaced with jelly, and I wobble while trying to remain standing. It’s a wasted effort, as I crumple faster than wet tissue.