She set an unreadable gaze on him like she could figure out what made him tick. Before she succeeded, he asked, “What are you getting?”
“My favorite. Chocolate-chip pancakes and bacon. What about you?” She picked up a steaming mug of coffee.
“I’ll stick with coffee. I’m not hungry.”
She smirked. “I suppose if I doused my coffee with as much creamer and sugar as you, I wouldn’t be hungry either. Your bastardized brew is like a meal all its own.”
“We can’t all be badasses like you and drink our coffee straight black. Some of us are more delicate than others.” He pretended to hold his mug like a porcelain teacup, pinching his thumb and forefinger around its handle and holding up his other three fingers ostentatiously.
Mai didn’t laugh. She wrapped her hand around his. “Anyone who can see what you do and still function isn’t delicate. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit.”
What she didn’t know was sometimes he didn’t “function.” That his mental health was more fragile than a dandelion in a hurricane.
He smiled and lowered the mug. “Thanks for thinking so.”
“So graveyards aren’t your favorite place.” She squeezed his hand. “Most people would agree with you.”
A fuzzy white fringe appeared around Mai’s body. Beads of sweat popped out on the nape of his neck, and he tried not to cringe as the white mass took its form.
Unlike with Dr. Jen, Isaac, or the old man across the room, this image didn’t form a 3-D shape. Sepia toned and crinkled like an old photograph, the flat projection revealed a Vietnamese man dressed in army fatigues. He stood in dense vegetation and grasped a revolver. With haunted eyes, he glared straight ahead under a battered helmet. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-one or twenty-two.
“What about you, Mai? What do you think about graveyards?” He tried to keep his voice steady and neutral.
She pulled away her hand. “Before today, I kinda had a fetish for them. I know it’s weird. The graveyard we visited? That’s my place of serenity. Or at least it used to be. After what it did to you, I won’t ever think of it the same way.”
“There’s no other reason graveyards call to you?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You do realize how creepy that question is, right?”
“Sorry. It appears I haven’t fully recovered from my earlier episode.” He picked up his coffee again and slurped it, eager to occupy his mouth so he stopped frightening Mai.
She took a deep breath. “You’re right, though. I’ve got my reasons. I visit graveyards so I don’t forget about a long-term goal of mine.”
“Most of us will end up in a cemetery without reminding ourselves.”
“Very funny.” She rolled her eyes. “In all seriousness, though, after graduation, I intend to restore neglected cemeteries, specifically those for soldiers killed in action.”
He tugged at his ear. “Wow. Heavy. What’s driving you?”
“Though I never knew him, my grandfather. He died fighting for the Army of the Republic of Viet Nam in the sixties. He didn’t serve on the wrong side of the war, but he did end up on the losing side.” She touched the corner of her mouth before continuing. “Over the years, the Vietnamese government hasn’t been overly concerned with maintaining enemy combatants’ graves. Relatives have sent us pictures of the cemetery where my grandfather is buried.” She rolled her shoulders and picked at her shirt. “To say it’s neglected would be an understatement. Even the small headstone above his grave is broken in half. It’s disrespectful. Everybody, or at least almost everybody, deserves a decent resting place, winning side of the war or not.”
Now that he understood her projection, Liam nodded. Perhaps if these visions didn’t unhinge him, he’d appreciate the insights they brought. But their cost, the unspooling of the thin thread of his sanity, was too high. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She flexed her jaw muscles. “I am, too. One day, I’m going to remedy the situation. I owe it to him, and I owe it to my bà nội―my grandmother.”
“Those sound like some lofty aspirations for a girl pretending to be mediocre.” His spoon clinked against the side of his mug as he stirred his coffee.
She touched the crucifix on her neck and looked into the distance. “You caught me. Promise you won’t tell anybody my secret.”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
Her dimples made another welcome appearance. “Deal. And now that I’ve told you a little about my family, why don’t you share some information about yours?”
“I’ve got a little sister named Tasha. She’s full of joy and energy and laughter.” All the qualities schizophrenia had stolen from him. He unconsciously picked at his bracelet.
Mai regarded his wrist. “Now I understand the rubber-band jewelry. I thought neon orange fell a little out of your fashion zone. You ever take it off?”
“Never.” He made a quick slicing motion with his hand.
“Doting older brother fits you well.” She tapped the table. “Tasha is lucky to have you.”
The life-sized photograph of her grandfather faded.
Breathing became easier. “I’m the lucky one. She makes living with my mom and stepfather bearable.”
Mai twisted her mouth to the side. “So your folks aren’t great?”
“My dad was an amazing man. The best person I ever knew.”
“Knew?” She leaned forward and wrinkled her forehead.
Liam swallowed the lump in his throat. “He died earlier this year.”
“I’m so sorry.” She placed her hand over her heart.
“My father was, and still is, my hero. You’ll never meet a tougher guy, physically or emotionally. Generous to a fault, he dedicated his life to serving others. Especially me.” He concentrated on the torn, pink sugar packet on the table. “Dad survived two tours in Afghanistan. I thought of him as indestructible and kinda figured he’d outlive me. But you know what did him in?” He raised his face to meet Mai’s and let out a half laugh, half groan. “A rainstorm and slippery leaves on a road in Ohio, half a mile from our house.”
Her eyes stayed glued to his. She sat, silent, waiting for him to continue.
“I didn’t take his passing very well, so my mother insisted I move in with her and my stepfather for a while.” He left out the tidbit about his living arrangement being a requirement for his probation.
“So I gather your stepfather’s a prick?”
“Not really. But I’m a constant reminder of what was, and he’s a constant reminder of what is.” He shrugged. “As a result, we can’t stand each other.”
“Sounds like it hasn’t been the best year for you.” She reached out and tucked an unruly lock of hair behind his ear.
He cursed his Irish skin as his face flushed. “It hasn’t. But I’ve got a feeling life’s about to improve.”
A corner of her lips hitched up. “I like your optimism.”
She held his gaze for a loaded moment before looking at her watch and sighing. “What I don’t like is the service here. I haven’t placed my order yet, and my next class starts in twenty minutes. I hate to cut this short, but do you mind dropping me back off at campus?”
“Of course.” Liam took out a five and left it on the table to pay for their coffee.
Mai stood and looped her arm through his. “Don’t think this gets you out of our date. You still owe me.”
Our date.
And just like that, the memories from the cemetery faded to gray.
ou’re home later than I expected,” Allison said.
Liam closed the front door and locked it. “Traffic.”
He walked into the kitchen and opened a cabinet, browsing for an edible snack. His appetite had returned on the ride home. A lone candy bar, hidden behind Styrofoam-like crackers and negative-calorie protein powders, revealed itself in the upper back corner. The wrapper crinkled as he tore it open and stuffed the chocolate in his mouth.
His mother eyed him disapproving
ly. She said, “Sugar isn’t good for your health.”
So the hell what?
“I know.” He doubted his anti-psychotic medicine worked any wonders on his liver either. But the only comment she made about his pills was “take it.”
“Enjoying the day off?” he asked.
His mother had reduced her workload after he’d come to live with her. She’d stopped working Wednesdays, opening up her schedule to run all the errands that piled up during the week. The maneuverings ensured Liam and Tasha were never alone together.
Long, brown hair pulled up into a haphazard ponytail, Allison held up a bottle of disinfectant and paper towels. “It’s a regular party in here. I bleached the bathrooms until they cried uncle, and the kitchen is up next.” She stopped for a beat. “Isaac called. He forgot his lunch. Mind bringing it to him?”
She always looked for ways to get the men in her life to interact, refusing to admit the less communicating the two did, the better.
Perched atop the stove, Joshua cracked his knuckles and popped his neck. “It’s amazing what your mother will do to separate us. One of these days I’m gonna give the meddlesome woman what she deserves.”
Liam ran his finger along his earlobe. “Okay.”
A whoosh of cold air prickled his skin as his mother pulled a blue, vinyl lunch bag out of the fridge and tossed it to him. “Thanks, honey,” she said. “If you could bike there, it’d help me out. I might need the car. Besides, exercise is a natural mood booster.”
Exercise would help him about as much as air helped a fish, but he kept his mouth shut. A long bike ride gave him an excuse to stay out of the house longer. Joshua was in a mood.
With an awkward and halting touch, Allison laid her palm in his and passed him a twenty.
“Treat yourself to a healthy lunch. No burgers!” She waved her pointer finger in the air for emphasis.
He uttered “thanks” over his shoulder as he made his way to the front door. Departures worked better if he left the house immediately after Joshua learned of his plans.
A gray, drawstring bag hung from the hall tree. He plucked it off its hook and stuffed Isaac’s lunch into the bag. The noise alerted RP to a possible departure, and he shot out like an Olympic sprinter from the kitchen and rubbed against Liam’s legs.
The cat deserved a little alone time. And if he got lost in the process, all the better. Liam sneaked a glance toward the kitchen. Preoccupied with the countertops, his mother wouldn’t notice if he let RP out.
He cracked open the door. “Don’t kill too many birds.”
The tomcat’s whiskers quivered before he dashed out. He hightailed it to his outside refuge -a large bush behind the carport. The stupid animal longed for freedom but never truly enjoyed the rare occasions when he found it.
A callused hand grabbed his neck with a vise-like grip as he lifted his foot to walk out the door.
“You really wanna leave me alone with your mother?” Joshua asked. His nails dug into Liam’s Adam’s apple.
“You can’t hurt her.” Liam’s stomach turned with sour bile.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” asked Joshua.
“Let me go, you stupid bastard!” He swatted away Joshua’s hand and hurtled toward his bicycle. It had been his father’s, once upon a time. The salty humidity had done a number on the already well-worn Schwinn, its brown paint now barely discernible from the rust overtaking the frame. He hefted the drawstring sack onto his back, hopped on the bike, and sped down the driveway.
Across the street, Mrs. Channer looked up from her gardening and stared at him without smiling. He sneered in response. They had their routine down pat.
He pedaled up Eagle Drive, took a right onto Beacon Beach Drive, and glided onto the bike path that ran parallel to the road. Dense woods teeming with insects framed either side of the long street. Other than passing cars and rambling armadillos, he was alone.
Sweat rolled down his forehead and stung his eyes. His drenched Pearl Jam T-shirt clung to his midsection, accentuating the pounds medicine had added to his frame, and the drawstring bag on his back adhered to his shirt like glue.
He glanced behind to ensure no runners or bikers followed him, eased his pace, and sat up straight. The sun beat down on his head and burned his neck. He raised both arms shoulder height and closed his eyes, letting the humid breeze push him along.
Unable to maintain his balance for long, Liam gripped the handlebars again and prepared to enjoy the solitude of the next few miles.
Instead, a high-pitched bark sliced at his eardrums. It came from behind, on the path empty mere seconds ago. The hair on his neck stood on end as the barking turned to howls of pain. He jammed on the bike’s brakes and planted his right foot on the cracked sidewalk. Wishing he could ignore the dog’s pleas for help, he turned his head toward the commotion.
A blond teenaged boy clenched a leather leash in his hands and jerked it high into the air, hanging a scrawny Yorkshire Terrier above the pavement from its collar. The dog made a few pathetic choking noises before the kid dropped it to the ground and planted a hard kick in its side. The terrier keened in pain.
“Stop!” Liam yelled. He flung down his bike and sprinted toward the animal abuser, balling his hands into fists ready to punch.
The teen ignored Liam and spit on the dog, heedless of the freight train rushing at him.
Liam pulled back his right fist and pounded it forward with as much force as he could gather. Instead of smacking flesh, his closed hand whistled through the air. His feet stumbled with the momentum of the missed hit, and he fought to keep from sprawling onto the pavement. Confused, he swung his head to the right and left, searching for the teen and his dog.
They had disappeared.
He pulled his sweaty shirt away from his chest and fought a wave of nausea. No way was this a hallucination. It had to be another imprint, like the drowning and the mourners at the cemetery.
Repulsed by his hope that a kid had beaten his pet to death, he willed down the bile creeping up his throat and walked back to his bike.
The handlebars shook from his trembling hands as he rode away from the scene of the crime. This latest memory tortured him worse than the cemetery. The dog had been helpless, completely undeserving of the beating. As the sole witness to the terrier’s abuse, Liam longed to serve up to the teen a dose of his own medicine. But how would he excuse thrashing the kid?
Don’t worry, everybody―I can see the past! I’m meting out some vigilante justice.
Isaac wouldn’t believe him, nor, for that matter, would his mother. Liam would have to let these visions haunt him. Unwelcome or not, the secrets belonged to him alone.
The scene replayed in his mind a hundred times before Beacon Beach Road dead-ended at Suwanee Avenue, where the heavy traffic surrounding the heart of Tyndall AFB’s administrative area forced Liam to concentrate on navigating. Dr. Jen always said menial tasks helped clear his mind.
He arrived at the joint Base Exchange and Commissary, a boxy building that housed both a general merchandise and grocery store, and glided to a stop near the entrance. He didn’t bother with the kickstand, as it had rusted through weeks ago, and let the Schwinn fall to the concrete. Isaac would have to wait for his meal.
Though the food court separating the BX and Commissary was small, it would suffice for lunch. His options consisted of either a sandwich shop or a Tex-Mex fast food restaurant. He settled for a couple of tacos.
His already suppressed appetite had shrunk even more after witnessing an innocent animal getting beaten to death. Nevertheless, he pressed through his meal. His mother would ask what he ate, and he didn’t want to lie. Not about unimportant matters, at any rate.
He nibbled on the tacos, chewing chicken and tomatoes until his teeth ground together. After each bite, he rewarded himself with a long slurp of soda. Soon enough, he finished his drink but still had one and a half tacos remaining on his plate. He picked up his paper cup and shook it, stabbing his s
traw through mounds of ice in a futile attempt to uncover more syrupy liquid.
A young airman dressed in fatigues walked past him, holding the hand of a little boy who looked to be around two or three. The son’s pudgy hand encircled the airman’s ring finger, and his feet worked double time to keep up with his father’s longer stride. Liam tried to ignore the pang of grief the pair caused him.
The drink’s plastic lid cracked as he opened it. He fished out a few pieces of ice and crunched down on them. Though he always missed his father, the BX accentuated the feeling. It didn’t matter that he’d never been to this particular Exchange with his father. BXs were roughly the same the world over, and he’d visited many of them with his dad. Full of nostalgia, their generic military atmosphere comforted him. A BX felt like home. Or at least how he fantasized home felt Before. Before his schizophrenia, Before his mother’s abandonment, Before his father’s death.
He crumpled up his trash and threw it in a black waste receptacle before making his way to the BX entrance. After flashing his ID card at the customer-greeting desk attendant, he wandered over to the men’s department. Racks of T-shirts with brand names splashed across them stood row upon row. None interested him. The threadbare Pearl Jam T-shirt he wore still fit fine and hadn’t seemed to bother Mai any.
The heavy scent of leather and wood lured him to the fragrance department. He held up a dark blue bottle in the shape of a man’s torso, glanced around and, satisfied nobody watched, sprayed it in the air. He inhaled the scent and stepped through the invisible cloud. As the tiny particles of cologne settled on his skin, he wondered what Mai would think of it. Would it turn her on?
His cheeks burned with a sudden rush of blood. The mere thought of the woman got him all hot and bothered. But men his age behaved this way when they liked a woman, right? Mai would be proud of his “average” emotions.
Though the cologne was pricey, he made a mental note of its name. His mother would likely be so thrilled he expressed an interest in personal hygiene she’d buy it for him no matter the cost.
Bleed Through Page 6