Chapter 22
He was sitting by the window, eyes watching the empty street. The sun pouring into the room hit him squarely in the face, and in his effort to avoid it, he ran the back of his hand across his forehead. The dampness on his knuckles reminded him of the sweat dripping from his hairline, and suddenly the peaceful denial he was in evaporated.
He became keenly aware of the way his leg wouldn't stop shaking, realized that the cold beer in his hand didn’t take the edge off. His eyes frantically surveyed the room for the umpteenth time, but he already knew there was nothing here that was of any worth.
He pawned everything.
The mattress in the corner and the various other personal belongings scattered around the bare room were of no value. With no hope of relief, he tried desperately to quell the desire inside him, the all consuming focus on one thing and one thing only.
He shut his eyes, tries to fight the craving, supplanting one drug for the other by taking a hefty pull from the bottle, but it was no use. There was no substitute for what he needed, what he desired, what he craved.
His eyes glazed over as he remembered his last hit and if he tried hard enough, in the quietude of his surroundings, he could almost imagine the taste of what he so urgently wanted. If he tried hard enough, he could already feel the intense euphoria and indestructibility that only came with his trusted friend.
The fantasy felt so incredibly real, he thought nothing could tear him away, but the distant sound of a car door slamming shut broke the illusion, reminding him of the frailty of his imaginings. He opened his eyes, gazed out the window and spotted a couple across the street. At first, he didn’t think much of them, averting his gaze elsewhere, even though it was clearly obvious that there was an air of authority about the woman that was hard to ignore. The man beside her looked strikingly out of place in a light gray three-piece suit.
That was about all the observation he could muster until the inside of his elbow began to itch again and his fingers wrapped tighter around the beer bottle in an effort not to scratch. It was painful to refrain, but he managed somehow, reminding himself with a brief glance to the puncture mark on his skin that it would likely be infected by now.
He grimaced at the wound, then looked away, trying to clear his mind, trying to focus on getting as much pleasure from the alcohol slowly making its way through his empty system as possible. Still, his attention invariably travelled to the window again, and when he noticed the couple cross the street with matched determination and approached the entrance to his rundown duplex, he knew he should be worried.
However, his eyes locked onto something else entirely. The woman was dressed conservatively, hiding what was likely to be a softly curved figure, but his mind didn’t catalogue that bit of information. Instead, he felt a tightening in his belly, the feeling of anticipatory elation in his heart disguised the danger of his thoughts.
The sunlight shone down on her and he quickly detected something sparkling, golden, hanging around the woman's neck. He could't figure out what it is, but it didn’t matter.
He was certain that it was valuable. Nothing cheap shone like that in natural daylight, and without much thought, he dropped the bottle of beer onto the floor. The amber liquid seeped into the carpet as he made his way to the front door, making sure his knife was still in his pocket. After all, he didn't miss the look of focus in the woman's eye; she may not make it easy for him.
He opened the door before the taller, red-haired man had a chance to knock, but his guests didn't appear startled. In fact, he felt the other man sizing him up, while the woman stepped closer to him, extending her hand.
"Are you Robert Evans?" she asked, and he nodded, eyes never leaving the chain around her neck. It was a cross, generic looking, but it would do.
He took a step toward her, but felt the man’s gaze on him, boring into him, body partially blocking his path. Rob looked to his left, brow furrowed as he looked the man up and down.
"What do you want?" he asked, barely restraining his frustration. He didn’t really care what they were here for, could care less what their intentions were, all he wanted was the chain around the woman's neck.
He focused on the necklace again. His hand slid imperceptibly into his pocket as the woman took a tentative step toward him. She used a calm tone, but he was blinded by desire.
"We just want to ask you a few questions, Rob. That's all."
His hand closed around the knife, thumb tracing over the metal, as he nodded his understanding, but it was almost like he didn’t feel himself doing it. He just wanted the damn fucking chain and then he would answer any questions they wanted.
They stood like that for what seemed like hours, until he realized that he hadn't taken his eyes off her neck, and the look the woman sent to the man standing beside her indicated that she recognized his fixation. He heard her coaxing suggestions, asking him if they could come in or if he would prefer to take a walk instead, but he couldn't concentrate.
His vision tunnelled and his mind was made up. Without warning, he lunged towards the brunette. Her eyes grew wide and he realized she must see the knife in his hand, but he couldn't stop himself. He zoned in on his prize, hand twitching at his side to rip it off and find his way to the nearest pawn shop.
Fear flared in her eyes, but she was otheiwise composed and it only encouraged him.
"Watson," he heard the man behind him shout, followed by a rough hold on his shoulder, pulling him back. He was not used to physical violence, but he hadn't had a hit in days. His withdrawal symptoms made him so delirious, throwing him off kilter both mentally and physically. Therefore, even though the man in the expensive suit probably had fifty pounds on him, Turner was no match for the surge of force that rippled through his body, as he pushed the larger man back. To his surpri se, he heard the loud thud as the man's head connected with something hard.
“Turner!”
The woman's eyes grew wide with fear that morphed quickly into anger as she sprinted forward, but he didn’t let her go far. His hands moved before he could even register the thought.
When she tried to push past him, he blocked her path, grabbed her around the shoulders with the hand holding the knife. Despite the proximity of the blade, she tried to break his hold, putting up more of a fight than he expected. However, the adrenaline was still driving him and he was not going to give up. His free hand yanked at the chain, ripping it apart. Clutching it tightly in his palm, he shoved her and tried to run.
He didn’t gain much ground before she was tackling him from behind, trying to wrestle the chain from his fist, but he refused to let go. Before his brain could catch up with his hands, his knife sliced straight through her thigh, vertical cut from hip to knee.
His eyes only barely registered the crimson staining her dark pants, but it was the sight of the silver blade of his knife stained in dark red blood that actually made him acknowledge what he had done.
He staggered back, didn’t even realize that as the woman struggled to stay up, biting her lip against the pain and applying pressure to the wound, his left fist fell open and the necklace, his whole purpose for the last few inconceivable moments, fell to the ground. This time it was not adrenaline, not strength that guided him, but fear. Still clutching the knife in his hand, he took off running down the street.
He ran as fast as he could until his lungs burned from lack of oxygen, his mind trying to erase the image of the bleeding woman. He looked over his shoulder only once, just long enough to realize that she actually had it in her to chase after him, but ultimately collapsed. Her body on the empty sidewalk was too far away from him to assess the damage.
He turned the corner two blocks later, the distance allowed a respite as he slowed down, no imminent danger present.
The craving, which seemed to abate in the frenzy, was now back, more potent than ever and he suddenly remembered the knife in his hand. It was one of his only possessions, one of the only things he hadn't tried to sell yet, but the sight of blood was just too much, even for him. He dumped it in the bushes as he walked, heartbeat returning somewhat to normal.
He didn’t know how much time passed, but as soon as he began to wonder what he would do now that he couldn't even return to the dump he had been living in, a car pulled up to the sidewalk, cutting him off as he tried to cross the street.
He thought nothing of it, until the driver rolled down the window and leaned across the console to smile at him.
The man looked familiar, but Rob didn't dwell on it. Instead his eyes immediately zeroed in on the empty passenger seat where a small packet called to him like a beacon, pushing any apprehension he felf to the very back of his mind.
The yearning only grew when he realized the cure he had been waiting for was finally within reach. When the man asked if he would like a ride, there was no second-guessing. No questioning, no doubt, just reassurance and certainty.
He will have his fix now.
He earned it after all.