White Trash Zombie Gone Wild (7 page)

“You've been removing a portion of the dose and diluting the remainder with saline to cover it.” His words slashed at my defenses, all the sharper for the gentle tone. “It's been going on for some time, hasn't it.”

My hands shook. I clenched them in the fabric of my pants and stared at the whiteboard on the wall. I couldn't look him in the eye. Physically impossible. I scrambled to think of a convincing lie. Excuse. Explanation. Anything.

Nothing came up. This was Dr. Nikas. I couldn't bear the thought of him knowing what a stinking lowlife I really was, but I also couldn't bring myself to lie to him again. Tears stung my eyes, and I gave a jerky nod.

The single soft breath of his sigh practically shouted his disappointment. “And using it. Why, Angel?” His voice remained calm and even and
nice
, which made the whole thing that much worse.

Sweat stung my palms. Coherent thought felt like a distant memory. My throat clogged with fear and self-loathing but I forced the useless words out. “It h-helps me.”

A hint of a frown touched his brow. “Helps you? In what way?”

Faint hope flickered. “To read.” I swallowed, throat dry as a stone. “It, uh, helps with the dyslexia.”

Dr. Nikas leaned forward, gaze boring into me. “How does it affect the dyslexia?”

I gave a helpless shrug. “I dunno. One day I noticed that things made sense when I was using it. Like, I could read a paragraph one time and understand it, and it didn't take me forever like it usually does.” I wiped my hands on my pants. “It's not a cure, but I can keep up with my classes when I use it. When I don't, I can't.”

He sat back and regarded me. “You started using it
before
you noticed it helped the dyslexia.”

Shit. I'd walked myself into that. The hope sputtered out, and I dropped my gaze to the floor. “I'm freaking out with the whole college thing,” I said in a shaky voice. “I'm in over my head, and the mod helps me handle the stress. Lets me chill enough to keep at it and not quit.”

“And you like the way it makes you feel,” he said in the same tone he would've used to say
And you like the way chocolate tastes.

Except we weren't talking about chocolate. “Guess I'm kicked out, huh.” Better for me to get it out in the open, no matter how much it hurt. I didn't want to hear him tell me to get out and never come back. I'd lose it for sure.

He didn't answer, which was answer enough. Instead he stared off over my head, eyes narrowed and mouth pursed in his familiar deep-thought mode. “Why dyslexia?” he murmured then went to the whiteboard and wiped a section of equations clean with the sleeve of his lab coat. The red marker squeaked against the board as he began to fill the cleared space with his unique shorthand.

I pulled the vials out of my pocket. I could leave them on his desk and go while he was in his own world. No point in sticking around any longer. It wasn't as if he was going to suddenly turn to me and say, “Oh, yes, of course you can still work here even though you totally lied to me and stole from me and betrayed my trust.” No, I'd come clean and get out. Leave now so I wouldn't have to see him looking at me with disappointment, knowing what kind of loser I really was. I placed the vials on the edge of the desk—a gorgeous antique buffed to a shine so deep it reflected the vials like a dark mirror. My hand shook as I withdrew it. This was the right thing to do.

Dr. Nikas continued to scrawl on the board, muttering to himself in Greek.

I stood and backed to the door.

The vials shimmered. Sparkles danced over them. Alluring. Mocking.

My last hope of calm in a stupidly unfair universe.

The V12 is all I have left. Damn it. I'm not hurting
anyone.

Pulse racing, I snatched up the vials and fled the office. I didn't slow down until I reached my car and then only to fumble my keys into the ignition before I peeled out.

When I reached the little highway I dragged the wheel over and coasted to a stop on the shoulder. My chest was so tight I felt as if I was about to implode. Away from Dr. Nikas, away from the lab and the Tribe and the world I'd come to love, I let it out. My chest heaved, and my gut felt like it was turning inside out with sobs.

My phone beeped with a text message. Dr. Nikas.
Come back.

Coherent thought returned in a panicked rush. Only one reason why he'd want me to come back. I twisted to scan the highway behind me. Even though the head honchos were out of town, there was always the chance that Dr. Nikas might send Tribe security after me. I couldn't deal with that. Not until I
had
to. Tears blurred my vision as I pulled back onto the highway, but I drove another ten minutes before I turned onto a side road and parked. I grabbed a syringe and a vial and drew up a dose, then paused before sliding the needle under my skin.

“And you like the way it makes you feel.”

Dr. Nikas's words took on a vicious edge as I mentally replayed them. I scowled, unsettled. He was off base there. Sure, it felt good, but I wasn't an addict. I was
nothing
like the old Angel. And I could prove it. Jaw set, I squirted the dose back into the vial and continued on my way.

A mile later I stopped and clawed for the syringe.

“I'm not an addict,” I muttered. The mass of ants dug their marching feet into my skin. I slid the needle between their bodies and pushed the plunger.

A haggard blonde woman looked back at me from the rearview mirror. Sparkling tears slid down her face.

I dashed them away.

“I'm
not
.”

The Kreeger River boat launch was my go-to sit and think spot, and I drove there in a numb, sparkly fog. No way could I be around anyone I knew. Couldn't handle it, couldn't risk that I'd see in their eyes, “We knew you were a loser. We were right all along. Who were you trying to kid?”

After I parked, I climbed out and sat on the hood. The boat launch didn't always hold the best memories. I'd been attacked there by Philip and Saberton goons—back when Philip was undercover. It could be downright creepy at night, but the only darkness at the moment was my mood.

A low sun sparkled across the water, silhouetting a young couple kayaking side by side. A man with a battered pickup loaded a boat onto a trailer and drove off, streaming water across the gravel. Two preteen boys stood on the dock, trying in vain to skip rocks across the water. After a few minutes they climbed onto bicycles and raced off, leaving me alone in the lot.

Grief swelled, and I let it fill me and spill over. I'd loved working at the lab. Loved it. And it was my fault and no one else's that I'd lost my place there. I'd been so cocky, full of excuses. Not an addict? Yeah, sure.
Who are you trying to kid?
And what about the Tribe? Was that gone as well? I didn't want to think about how Marcus would react when he found out. So much for us remaining friends.

I stared out at the river until the agony faded to merely a horrible ache. Boats motored by, and three warning hoots from farther up the river signaled an opening bridge. A sweet scent rode the breeze to me, a contrast to the less pleasant smells of boat exhaust and dead fish. I glanced around for the source and spied a determined stand of bushes at the very back of the lot, exploding in tiny white flowers.

On impulse, I walked over and snapped off a sprig of blooms. A bee, legs heavy with pollen, alighted on one of the blossoms, and I watched as it burrowed into the flower to do its pollinating thing. It didn't care whether or not the flowers were still attached to the bush. When it finally buzzed off in search of more gold treasure, I returned to my car, deep in thought.

My time with the Tribe didn't have to be over. So what if I didn't work at the lab anymore. I stuck the sprig in my cup holder, mustered a smile as the sweet odor filled the air. I was like that little worker bee, digging out useful info. I'd been damn useful to the Tribe over the past year, and if I continued then they'd pretty much have to keep me around, right?

Feeling a little better, I started my car and headed home. If Dr. Nikas decided to send security to pick me up, so be it. Until then, it felt good to have a plan, or at least a sense of direction. Enough shitty stuff. Tonight was movie night. Pierce needed eyes and ears around town, and I was going to have a nice time if it killed me.

•   •   •

My grand plans for a nice time free of shitty stuff hummed along up until the moment I walked into my house. There on the living room couch sat my dad, obviously waiting for me, with a Very Serious Expression on his face.

I stopped dead, door still open. “What's wrong?”

He lifted his chin. “I got something I need to say, Angel.”

Not Angelkins. Angel. That was never a good sign. I shut the door. “Did someone die?” I asked then narrowed my gaze at him. Dark circles rimmed bloodshot eyes. He looked tired, sad. Fear squeezed my heart. “Are you sick?”

He shook his head. “I ain't sick, and no one died that I know of.” He exhaled, and he seemed to deflate as the breath left him. “I didn't sleep real good last night 'cause my mind kept racing and worrying.”

“Jesus, Dad, what the hell's going on?” I plunked down on the other end of the couch and toed my shoes off. “You're scaring the crap out of me.”

“I'm scaring
you
?” He snorted and got to his feet. A dark scowl pulled at his mouth. “You been acting odd and moody, and I wanna know what's eating you up.”

No. Not twice in one day. I barely survived the last goddamn
intervention.
No way was I going through this again.

“I'm really fucking busy,” I snapped. “That's what's eating me up. I have school and work to deal with, and I'm trying to avoid flunking out my first semester.”

“Nah, it's more than that,” he said, eyes hard on me. “I ain't as dumb as I look. I seen you like this before. I dunno how you're doing it, but you're using again!”

“No! That's bullshit!” I shouted. “Drugs don't work on me anymore, remember? How 'bout you get off my goddamn back?”

“Don't lie to me, Angel! I swear to god, I'll—”

I didn't remember getting up from the couch, didn't remember advancing on my dad. But next thing I knew he was backed against the door, with my left hand clenched tight in his shirt and my right cocked back in a fist.

My breath spasmed in my chest. Memory swept through me of another confrontation almost three years ago, back when we still lived in the old, crappy house with the roaches and leaky roof and duct-taped windows. My dad had found a bottle of Vicodin in my sock drawer and, even though I'd been drinking and smoking pot since I was seventeen, he decided it was time to do more than just yell at me. This time he was going to lay down the law and set me straight. But I was out with Randy when my dad found the pills, and I didn't come home for another four hours. That gave Dad plenty of time to work up a good head of steam, along with ample opportunity to plow through a six-pack of beer and half a bottle of Old Crow. The instant I walked in he started yelling at me about how I was a piece of shit and worthless and all that crap. We screamed at each other for a minute or so, then I must've said the wrong thing because he backed me up against the door and smacked me so hard I couldn't see out of my left eye for three days.

It was the first time he'd ever truly scared me.

And now . . .

Dad's eyes were wide and full of fear. Nausea rose in my throat, and I stumbled back with a gasp. “I'm sorry. Oh god, Dad. I'm sorry.”

For a spindly guy pushing fifty he was quick. He backpedaled into the kitchen, grabbed a cast-iron skillet off the stove and brandished it in front of him with both hands. “Stay the hell where you are,” he said, voice shaking.

“Dad.” The word choked out. He knew what the monster in me was capable of doing. What monsters like me had done to loved ones in the past. This was different, but how was he supposed to know that? “Dad, I—I'm sorry.”

He lowered the skillet but didn't set it down. The fear in his eyes shifted to wariness.

“Look, I had the crappiest day ever, and—” I shoved my hands through my hair. “Shit. That's no excuse. I screwed up.”

The skillet clanged onto the counter, and he had me wrapped in a hug before I could blink. “Yeah, Angelkins, but I shouldn't've accused you like that.” His arms had a wiry, gentle strength as he held me against him. He'd filled out a bit since he stopped drinking and was definitely healthier. I could have pulled free if I'd wanted to, but I didn't.

“I got no proof or nuthin,” he went on, voice thick, “and I just been worried 'cause you ain't been acting like my Angel. Maybe it's your medical condition. I dunno what's going on, but whatever it is I want you to know I love you and I'll help you any way I can.”

Guilt dragged claws through me as I leaned into him. “Thanks,” I croaked out and tried to blink away tears. “I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me.” A lie. I knew what made me react without thinking, and it scared me senseless.

“It's gonna be okay, baby.” A tremble went through him as he held me, then he pulled away and offered me a teary smile. “Hang on. I know you gotta get ready for the movie, but I got two things that might put a smile back on that pretty face.”

I dragged a hand under my nose as he yanked open the coat closet door. He reached all the way to the back then straightened with a pair of rain boots in his hand. Pink rain boots. The brightest eye-searing pink I'd ever seen in my life. On top of that, they were bedazzled and painted with silver glitter in swirls so distracting I almost didn't see the fake fur trim around the top. At least I assumed it was fake. If not, somewhere there was a purple cheetah missing part of its hide. “I—”

“Before you say anything,” Dad began, “you need to know I got these on a crazy whim thinking you'd like 'em, and then realized they might be a little much. But that ain't the part that's gonna make you smile.”

“Oh?” I said faintly. A
little
much? There was fake fur on the rain boots.

Fake fur. On rain boots.

“See, I bought 'em from Tammy's booth at the Farmer's Market this morning.” He chuckled as my eyes narrowed. The loud and flamboyant Tammy Elwood was a bartender down at Kaster's, and my dad had been dating her since a bit before I left for New York. To say that me and her had never clicked was like saying that the carpets on the Titanic got a little damp. “Then, I overheard her gossipy ass telling Maylene from the diner that you was all creepy weird for working with dead folk. Broke up with her then and there.”

“But Dad, y'all were getting along so—”

“It's been coming for a while now, what with her whining about how I ain't asked her to move in with me and dropping hints like how great it'd be to honeymoon in Cabo.” He cracked a grin at my shudder. “This morning was the last straw on this camel's back. 'Sides, I'm the only one who gets to say how creepy weird you are.”

“Damn straight.” I smiled and kissed his cheek.

“Anyway, I figure maybe next time it rains you can have fun stomping these ugly-ass things through the mud.”

Laughing, I took the boots from him. “That's so perfect.”

Dad let out a whistle. “Damn, those fuckers are butt-ugly.”

“They're so ugly, they're awesome.”

“Just like me,” he said. “Go on. Get yourself ready for the movie. You don't wanna keep Mr. Highfalutin waiting.”

“Marcus bailed. I snagged his ticket, so go get your ass changed.”

His face lit up as if I'd told him he'd won the lottery. “No shit?”

“No shit. Get moving. All the cool movie premiere stuff starts in less than an hour.”

“Dibs on the bathroom!” he cried out and scrambled that way. I could have beat him there, but I let him have the victory. Maybe this day wouldn't end up as awful as it had started.