Alex Barclay - Blood Loss

She took her eyes off Paul, physically shook her head as if that would get rid of the thoughts.

Jesus, stop thinking about men.

Gary Dettling caught Ren’s eye, holding her gaze until she focused back on the top of the room. Gary had asked her once was she sleeping with Paul Louderback, and she was able to truthfully answer no, but … well. The important thing was that she had let the friendship slide, and she wanted to keep it that way.

But ‘wanted to’ and ‘would’ are two entirely different things.

Ren zoned back in when Gary Dettling took over and delivered what he knew about the Royces.

‘Shelby Royce’s parents are Cal Royce, sixty-five years old, and Connie Royce, forty-six years old. They’re married twenty-eight years, and have lived for the past sixteen years in Blue River, four miles outside of Breckenridge. Shelby is their only child. Cal runs The Miner on Main Street. Connie works in Happy Days creche, also on Main Street.

‘Cal Royce is ex-Sons of Silence, a motorcycle gang — a one percenter. As it was famously said — ninety-nine percent of motorcycle gangs are good guys, any outlaw gangs are called one percenters. Sons of Silence are a hardcore gang — but Cal Royce straightened himself out, got married, moved to a nice house in a nice town, no trouble since. On Saturday night, he and his wife were eating together at the South Ridge Bar and Grill in town and stayed there until two a.m. Multiple witnesses confirm this.

‘The Sheriff will be holding a press conference in an hour’s time,’ said Gary. ‘But we’re keeping details of this investigation at a minimum. It is crucial that the correct information is out there, so please, if you are approached by the media for a comment, refer them to our media team. I don’t need to stress the importance of discretion here.’

Everyone moved into the hallway.

Gary came up to Ren. ‘We’ll meet in Bob’s office, go through what we’re going to say to the press.’

Bob walked over to them. ‘There’s already shit getting out there,’ he said. ‘It’s not good, particularly for Erica Whaley — drunken step-mom. I just spoke with everyone’s favorite dimwit-reporter, Casey Bonaventure: “is it true the Whaley step-mom was drunk?”; “did the Whaleys have a screaming match in the restaurant?”; “did the husband grab her by the arm?” “is Cal Royce a member of a violent gang?”; “was Shelby Royce drinking that night?”’

‘And I’ve seen it’s already on Twitter,’ said Ren, ‘“OMG two girls kidnapped in Breck!” And “OMG such a cute town, v safe” and “OMG was going to stay in that hotel for the Dew tour”. Shocked Smiley face.’

Taber Grace was wakened by a sharp slice of early morning sun beaming through his bedroom blinds. His dreams had been a mess he could barely untangle, shafts of faces and places, the vague sense of fear and pain. His hands were clenched, his palms sore from where his fingernails had been buried into them. The client file had fallen from the bed where he had left it, and was fanned out across the floor.

He checked his phone. There was a voicemail from his ex-wife, Melissa.

Taber, wherever you are, please call. TJ got in a fight in school Friday. It wasn’t serious, but … just call.

TJ had gotten into a fight. TJ had no business getting into a fight. This was worth more than a phone call or a text. He checked his watch. He would pay TJ a visit. At nine a.m. on a Sunday morning, that would wake him up.

Melissa and TJ Grace still lived in the home that Taber once shared with them in Stapleton, North East Denver. Melissa’s car was in the drive when he arrived. The drapes were closed. Taber walked up the path and rang the doorbell. There was no answer. He smelled burning. He ran to his car and grabbed the spare house key from the glove box. Things had never gotten that bad that Melissa had changed the locks.

He walked into the hallway, but stopped when he heard raised voices in the kitchen. They hadn’t heard the doorbell. They hadn’t heard him open the door and come in. The smell, he realized, was burnt pancakes. There were no flames, there was no smoke. He started to move toward the kitchen. He could hear Melissa’s voice, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. He walked closer.

‘You screwed up my entire life!’ TJ shouted.

Taber stopped dead. Screwed up his life?

Taber heard Melissa answer. ‘I did what I thought was right,’ she said.

TJ was sobbing. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like to have to lie the whole time? Do you have any idea?’

Taber’s heart pounded. This wasn’t just teenage drama. TJ sounded traumatized.

‘Yes, I have an idea!’ said Melissa. She was crying too. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I lied too, TJ. And it wasn’t right, but … I thought it was. I swear to God, I thought it was.’

Taber was rooted to the spot. Lied about what?

‘Are you telling me the truth now?’ said TJ.

‘What do you mean?’ said Melissa.

‘Are you?’ said TJ.

‘I don’t know what you mean …’ Her voice was shaking.

Taber could hear something hit the floor. He realized then that he could see his ex-wife and son in the reflection of the open glass door. Melissa bent down to pick up what TJ had thrown at her. It was a bottle of pills.

‘Oh, God,’ she said. ‘Where did you get these?’

‘You can’t even remember where you hid them?’ said TJ.

‘Stop, TJ, please. I told you-’

‘You did what you thought was right,’ he said. ‘I get it.’

‘Please,’ said Melissa, ‘don’t be mad.’

‘Mad?’ said TJ. ‘Mad? You think I’m just mad? Are you for real?’

‘You were depressed!’ said Melissa.

‘I was nine years old!’ said TJ. ‘My parents were divorcing! I was upset . My dad was gone.’

Taber thought about it: Nine years old. When TJ was nine … when TJ was nine … Melissa tried to kill herself. TJ had found his mother covered in blood. He had called 911. Taber had heard the recording, TJ’s desperate voice. ‘I … my … mother is shot. My mother is shot. She -’ They asked for his details, and he sobbed as he gave their name and address. They asked again what had happened. He had covered the phone, then spoken again ‘ … self-infected. She’s self-infected.’ The operator had said, ‘Son, do you mean self-inflicted?’ ‘Yes,’ Melissa had said in the background. ‘Yes,’ TJ had said.

And the ambulance had been sent, and the wound was superficial, and lucky for Melissa Grace, and for all the family, her suicide attempt had been a failed one.

And here they all were, six years later. Taber tuned back into the conversation.

‘Did dad know about these?’ said TJ, grabbing back the bottle of pills.

Taber Grace could feel his stomach churn. He barely realized he had moved until he was standing in the kitchen in front of them.

TJ jumped. Melissa cried out.

‘Please tell me what’s going on,’ said Taber.

They both stared at him.

‘Someone, please tell me,’ said Taber.

‘Oh, God,’ said Melissa.

‘We’re all going to sit down,’ said Taber. ‘And you’re both going to tell me what this is all about.’ He reached out to TJ. ‘Hand me those,’ he said.

TJ handed him the bottle of pills. Taber read the label. It was a six-year-old prescription.

CERXUS. Melissa Grace. Take One Tablet By Mouth Twice Daily.

‘How do I know the name Cerxus?’ said Taber. He opened the pills and shook them into his hand. They were bright yellow and stamped with a C.

‘These are … what the hell?’ said Taber. ‘These are … TJ’s Vitamin C? When he used to stay with me, and you gave me that little plastic Monday Tuesday Wednesday pill box, you told me not to forget to give him his Vitamin C. It was this? What, exactly, is Cerxus?’ He turned to Melissa. ‘What is it? What was I giving to him?’